


Between Floors Six and Seven

by NeverNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Elevator Sex, F/M, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Romantic Comedy, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNik/pseuds/NeverNik
Summary: Ministry of Magic employees Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are always at each other's throats. Not a civil word is exchanged between them all week. Thank Merlin it's Friday evening! One short trip down in the lift (elevator) and they'll be free of each other for the weekend... or will they? Dramione, AU, M-rated for profanity and sex scenes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promised I would add to this story after Stopover Two and Treacherous Affairs Two. Both those stories are long since finished, so now I will see what I can create from this two-shot.
> 
> M for naughty words and naughty scenes. Chapters 1 and 2 have been modified to fit with the extended plot line. AU – no Voldemort.
> 
> I own the plot, but JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe.

**Friday evening**

**Ministry of Magic**

"Did your hair stylist apply too much bleach to your thick head, Malfoy?" Hermione Granger yelled, struggling to keep up with his much longer legs as he strode down the hall to the lifts. Workers leapt out of their paths. "I can't believe that someone supposedly as educated and intelligent as you claim to be could make such a stupid mistake!"

Draco Malfoy skidded to a stop and glared at her, insanely offended. "I do _not_ bleach my hair, woman!" he roared.

He jabbed the 'down' button for the lift so violently it was a surprise that he hadn't punched a hole clear through the wall just with his index finger. Hermione stood next to him, seething and tapping her foot.

"And furthermore," he ground out, "if I had received all the necessary information from your Department – which I clearly didn't – I would have noticed the error before your useless staff ran rough-shod over it!"

Hermione's short scream of frustration was accompanied by a stamp of her foot. "My _useless_ staff, you say?" she yelled, her eyes and curly hair practically giving off sparks. "It was my _diligent_ staff that picked up the error your pathetic minions failed to find, despite the fact it was so obvious a blind man could have seen it!"

Draco looked down his nose at her. "Why are you yelling at me, anyway? I wasn't even there!"

"You approved the documentation!" she shrieked.

Draco clutched his hair in extreme frustration.

Hermione clutched her handbag in extreme frustration.

The lift doors gracefully opened. For all that Draco was so frustrated at the conceited know-it-all practically vibrating by his side, he managed to recall he was a gentleman, so he let her go in first.

She sauntered in, smirking.

"There's no need to gloat because I let you in ahead of me," he snapped.

Her smirk grew bigger.

Draco stuck his head out of the lift door, glaring at the crowd of workers milling around. "Anyone else?" he barked.

They all bolted for the stairs.

The lift doors closed on the two with an ominous clang.

* * *

The start of the lift's descent was spent in surprising silence, with wizard and witch leaning against opposite walls. Draco looked at the lift buttons. Hermione looked at her shoes.

Suddenly, the lift jerked to a rough stop. Hermione lost her footing and groped for the handrail before a masculine hand with slender fingers steadied her by her arm. A bolt of… something… shot through her.

"What happened?" she asked.

"We've stopped between floors six and seven."

"Again?"

He shrugged, crossing his arms and looking at her coolly.

She glared back at him.

* * *

**Eventually…**

"People are complaining about us," he said.

"I know that," she snapped. "The complaints have increased, actually."

He gaped at her. "This isn't a competition!"

"I know that!" she repeated. "I just prefer to be accurate."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it hasn't escaped the precious national resource that is your brain that either you, I or both of us may find ourselves in a sticky situation, career-wise, unless we can at least pretend to be civil to each other."

"Yes, I know," she snapped, pacing the small confines of the lift. "But you just make it so bloody hard to do!"

He huffed. "It's not me, sister."

She whirled on him. "I'm not your sister," she snapped.

"You know, I had figured that out for myself," he said lazily. "Before the first time we fucked each other, I believe."

In the blink of an eye, her index finger was almost shoved up his nose. "Don't you ever, _ever,_ bring that up again!" she snarled.

He grabbed her wrist. "Why?" he asked baldly.

She tried to shake free. "Because it was awful!"

He yanked her closer to his body. "Liar," he murmured.

She eyed up the kickability potential of his shins.

"Don't," he whispered in her ear. His lips brushed her ear lobe, and she trembled, despite herself. She relaxed her stance, and he (albeit with a little trepidation) let her go.

She glared straight into his mercurial eyes.

He sighed. "Are you still upset because I won't have a relationship with you?"

She said nothing.

"Granger, come on, that was months ago" –

WHACK!

She punched him.

He staggered back against the wall, swearing and holding his nose.

Meanwhile, Hermione was expounding as to why he deserved to have his nose adjusted. "You turned me into your whore!" she shouted. "I'm not someone that fucks just for the hell of it, you know! I have standards! Morals! Standardised morals!"

Draco gave his nose an experimental tweak. It decided it wasn't broken. "No."

"No, what?"

He slowly advanced upon her with an unreadable expression. She backed away until she was up against the opposite wall, defiance dancing with doubt on her face.

He pressed his lean, hard body up against hers, his hands grasping the handrail on either side of her. "No, you are not a whore," he said evenly. "And you're not someone who fucks just for the hell of it."

Hermione was a little confused by his compliments.

"You're someone who fucks me. Just for the hell of it."

Typical. Bloody man wouldn't a know what a compliment was unless it performed a strip tease for him.

She scowled at him. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," he whispered.

His lips captured hers.

He was right, Salazar damn him.

She opened to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut

Robes were flung with abandon to different corners of the lift.

"You do this on purpose, don't you?" Draco bit out as Hermione feverishly loosened his tie and he frantically opened the buttons to her blouse.

"What?" she gasped as he pulled down the cups of her balconette bra, freeing what he privately considered to be the finest breasts in the whole bloody world. And he'd seen quite a few. "Make the lift stop?"

He hiked her smooth thighs around his waist and she pulled him in to her, grinding against his erection. "You aggravate me every minute of the day," he muttered, kissing her neck and drawing her earlobe into his mouth. She keened in need. "Thanks to you, you maddening banshee, I'm almost constantly hard at the office! Every bloody evening I Floo home with blue balls! Is this why you incessantly argue with me? I'm developing blisters on my hand, for Salazar's sake!"

She tightened her thighs, and he groaned. "Is that what makes you cranky at work?" she whispered against his jaw.

He groaned in considerable frustration. " _You_ make me cranky, woman! You!"

Looking briefly into her luscious eyes, he hoisted her up against the wall and drew one of her delicious rose-pink nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. She wailed and orgasmed, her whole body shaking in his steady arms. Switching to her other breast, Draco cast a wandless, wordless _muffliato_. Just in case.

Rotten bastard knows every single one of my erogenous zones, she thought deliriously. Then again – I know every one of his.

She pulled his face down and kissed him hard, plunging her tongue inside him, wanting his addictive taste. Never one to stand passively by, Draco joined her, setting her down as he heatedly worked his lips and tongue alongside hers.

Hermione's hands wandered to his trousers. Deftly (for she'd done this before) she undid the top button and zip, leaving his belt fastened. Removing her mouth from his with a suction-induced 'plop,' she knelt down before him, tugging his long, hard, thick erection free.

Draco balanced his hands against the lift wall. He loved it when she gave him head. Meant she couldn't talk.

Her mouth filled with saliva as she stroked her hand along his cock. His shudder rippled through his body.

She started by sealing her wet lips around the head of his cock and sucking hard.

"Oh, hell," he moaned. "I love it when my cock's inside your mouth, Granger. Your lips were made to be wrapped around me, I swear."

She rolled her eyes and gave him the finger, all the while moving ravenously further down his hard, hot shaft.

He chuckled and let her be.

She fed inch after beautiful inch into her wet, willing mouth, gripping him at the base with her hand, listening to his ragged breathing and incoherent ramblings.

She relaxed her throat and eased the edge of his cock into it, using the saliva that fell from her lips to wet his cock even more. He swore and banged his fist against the wall, fighting down the urge to explode in her mouth.

He pulled her up and kissed her desperately. "Exquisite," he whispered against her mouth. "But I have to be inside you, love. Do you want me?"

In answer, she pulled herself up, perching her perky little bottom against the handrail. She wrapped her legs around his waist once more, up slick against his cock.

His eyebrows shot to the lift's ceiling. "No panties?" he boggled. "Have you been panty-less all bloody day?"

She flicked him an innocent glance. "It's Friday," she said. "Usually by this time of the day you've got them off me, anyway."

He leaned his forehead against hers, and took a breath. "Unbelievable woman," he breathed, his eyes glinting silver.

They kissed breathlessly, then he sheathed himself inside her.

* * *

The sensation of his cock filling every part of her slick, wet channel propelled Hermione into another orgasm. Draco held her tight while her body trembled and the muscles of her beautiful pussy contracted around him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck while he partially withdrew; then he commenced the rhythm that would soon bring him to his knees – vulnerable, for a tiny shard of time, in front of a woman who drove him up the bloody wall with frustration, desire and confusion.

They looked into each other's eyes as they fucked. They never spoke. Just gave each other to each other.

Eventually, Draco's strokes became erratic, and he sped up, in tune with the rise of Hermione's moans and ever-wetter pussy.

He flung his head back as Hermione cried out his name – and convulsed once more around his flesh. He gritted his teeth as he held her bewitching body and came hard inside her – the most amazing feeling in the whole damn world, he was sure.

The teeth-gritting were for a purpose. More than once at this vulnerable time, his brain had taken flight and he'd stammered out words to women that no self-respecting Malfoy would say.

He was way too confused to figure out what he meant by them.

* * *

Every week, after five days of snarky comments, barbed jibes, pointed remarks and all-out yelling matches: when Friday knock-off rolled around, it was all the pair could do to not shag each other silly in the Ministry's Fountain of Magical Brethren, within full view of whoever and whomever.

A few short months ago, they were able to wait until they'd Flooed to one or the other's flats before ripping each other's clothes off, but lately they seemed to have hit a snag.

Between the Ministry's sixth and seventh floors, to be precise.

* * *

Back in the lift, Draco cast a _scourgify_ , and they made themselves presentable again.

He watched her quickly re-apply some lipstick and perform some sort of bizarre trickery to tame her hair. A process he's seen so many times he's lost count.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She turned her head to his, her face unreadable. "Do you want to come over tonight?"

"I can't," he said, putting regret in his tone. "Meeting Blaise for a drink."

"Oh." She looked away.

He relented. "I could come by at eleven tonight, if it's not too late," he suggested.

She smiled briefly. "Yeah, all right."

"Good to go?" he asked again.

She nodded. "Good to go."

He released the emergency stop button, and the lift clattered into life again.

* * *

Usually Mondays were blessedly subdued affairs at the Ministry for Draco and Hermione's employees. They conducted joint departmental meetings with stiff, polite formality.

Workers, especially ones who hadn't been around very long, optimistically hoped that their truce would last longer than eight and a half hours.

It hasn't yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**'Before'**

* * *

**Monday**

Hermione discreetly cleared her throat as she took a seat in the Ministry's cavernous boardroom. She shuffled her parchments importantly, giving the impression that she was concentrating very hard and was not available for pre-meeting chit-chat. Not that people dared approach her, anyway. Even the moving stained-glass portraits of Ministers been and gone that occupied the enormous windows surrounding the room only nodded to her. She pretended not to notice. She wasn't a monster. She just had high standards for herself and her team. And everyone else in the Ministry. If her colleagues didn't enjoy receiving finger-blistering Howlers from her department, they should make more of an effort to meet their deadlines.

Anyway, this meeting was too important to waste on those mouth-breathers. A new Head of Department was starting today, in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The Minister was very impressed with him – or her. So that meant there was an incoming witch or wizard that she could mould to her exacting standards. For as Liaison Manager for Wizard-Muggle Co-operation, her team would be closely working with his – or her – team. Taking him – or her – under her wing will winkle out the bad habits before they had a chance to flourish.

Yes... finally, a significant chunk of her work life will subside into peaceful, efficient inputs and outcomes.

The imposing door at the end of the room opened, and the attendees gathered around the table rose as one. The Minister entered first, a tall and robust man, and the person he was chatting to, who stood partially behind him, wasn't in full view.

"Ah!" the Minister said jovially, his hawk-like gaze soaring around the assemblance of Department Heads. "Good, you're all here. Allow me to introduce your newest colleague, who comes to us most highly recommended by the Magical Congress of the United States of America" –

Jolly good, Hermione thought smugly.

\- "and he's looking forward to working closely with you all. Well, rather than let myself ramble on about his many qualities and qualifications, I'll let him do the talking himself. He's more than capable!"

Chuckles sounded around the table. Hermione craned her neck, teetering on the edge of her seat to try and see around the Minister's body. Who is he?

"Thank you, Minister," replied a posh, dry voice. One that Hermione vaguely recognised but couldn't place. "My name is Draco Malfoy, and" –

_Whump!_

Hermione had fallen off her chair.

* * *

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you, please don't fuss!" Hermione chided her neighbour as she resettled in her seat with cheeks as red as roses. Dear gods, she seethed to herself. Which is worse? Humiliating herself in front of her peers and colleagues, or having to work with the most arrogant of the poshest and git-iest school rivals who crowned himself Merlin's Gift to Witchkind in Seventh Year? And Sixth Year? And probably Fifth Year, for all she knew?

She could practically feel steam evaporating from her face. Lord knew how her hair looked.

As ill luck would have it, the Minister started introducing His Draco-ness to personnel as far away as possible from Hermione as it was to achieve around a large round table. So, she used her time productively, rehearsing in her head exactly what she wanted to say in order to make a perfect first impression. And to make up for the minus points she'd received from landing in an undignified heap on the floor.

Except as she watched their slow progress around the room, her mind deviated:

_Malfoy._

_Bloody Malfoy._

_Bloody useless Malfoy._

_Bloody upstart, Richie-Rich Malfoy._

_Bloody-thinks-he's-too-good-for-the-rest-of-us Malfoy_ and so on and so forth.

So, when Malfoy and the Minister finally materialised in front of her, this is what happened:

Hermione stood up and offered a confident hand for a faintly-smiling Draco to shake. "Hello, I'm Hermione Malfoy."

* * *

**Tuesday**

Hermione managed to successfully avoid Draco for the rest of Monday, but on Tuesday it couldn't be helped; his team and her team were to have a joint meeting. In the boardroom, the scene of her shame.

To Hermione's grudging respect, Draco was nothing less than perfectly professional, offering excellent insights and providing helpful feedback on suggestions that others in the room made. Not that many did; most of the wizards seemed to be thoroughly intimidated by the black-robed Adonis; and the witches spent the meeting with their mouths gaping open and their eyes out on stalks.

Good grief, Hermione eye-rolled to herself. He's not _that_ good-looking.

When the meeting drew to a close, however, Hermione learned that Draco had only been biding his time. "Let's all thank Ms... Malfoy, is it? for organising this most productive meeting. We must have more of them. Don't you agree, Ms Malfoy?"

This was met by confusion from the attendees. One particularly idiotic buffoon (from her team, she was disappointed to note) gasped and asked "Ms Granger, are you and Mr Malfoy related?"

"No," Hermione replied, keeping a lid on her bubbling temper. "Mr Malfoy is just having trouble with names. It's his second day at the Ministry, after all."

Draco's grey eyes sparkled. "I believe someone I met yesterday had some trouble with names, but it definitely wasn't me."

Hermione sighed and picked up her parchments. "Please address me as Ms Granger, if you would be so kind," she said shortly.

"Ms Granger? How terribly formal," Draco grinned, looking rather feral.

Fortunately Hermione had sailed out of the boardroom by then and was not witness to the comment, or Draco's feral-ness.

* * *

**Wednesday**

A memo in the form of a paper plane landed on Hermione's desk – written, she noticed, on quality embossed paper with a narrow silver border. She unfolded the plane, and to her complete non-surprise, saw that the paper had the Malfoy crest sitting proudly at the top – in silver, naturally.

The message read:

_Did it hurt?_

Did what hurt? Hermione snorted irritably. Can't the fool write in proper sentences?

She replied, using the standard Ministry paper reserved exclusively for interdepartmental memo-ing.

_Did what hurt, for Merlin's sake? Can you at least try to make sense when corresponding?_

His reply was swift, and on yet another priceless piece of Malfoy stationery.

_When you fell onto the broomstick that's shoved up your arse. I've never seen anyone with a stiffer posture than yours. And that near-permanent frown on your face? I imagine that's broomstick-related, too. I've had many Quidditch accidents in my time; I can recommend a good Healer._

Hermione gaped in shock. How dare he?

_How dare you?!_

His reply was fast. He'd been waiting for her reaction.

_You'd rather keep the broomstick where it is? Whatever turns you on, Ms Malfoy._

This time, Hermione's shriek of rage had her assistant bolting to her office door. "Are you all right, Ms Granger?" she warbled.

Hermione paused in her deep breathing exercises. "Perfectly fine, Patricia, thank you!" she called out, consigning Malfoy's latest insult to the flames of her fire. "Although, would you mind bringing in more interdepartmental memo paper, please? I seem to have run out."

Suitably refreshed of office stationery, she gripped her quill.

_Firstly: I don't have a broomstick up my arse. Secondly: don't call me Ms Malfoy. Thirdly: memos are to be sent on official interdepartmental memo paper, not the rubbish you're using. And lastly, leave me alone!_

With a couple of extra flicks of her wand, she sent the missive sailing up the fireplace chimney with a satisfied smirk.

* * *

In another part of the Ministry, the staff of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes were most perplexed when a howl of rage burst forth from their new manager's office. His assistant, Bunny, was first to the door.

"Mr Malfoy, are you – oh my gods!"

What had startled poor Bunny so?

Her boss was standing by his desk, absolutely doused from head to toe in Muggle glitter and PVA glue. He looked like a child's art project run amok. An innocent-looking memo (on official paper, of course) sat on his desk.

Snarling, Draco brandished his wand and intoned _'scourgify!'_ – only to find that the spell had removed only a small amount of the detested glitter and glue.

"Oh dear," Bunny said sadly, "it'll take forever to get that glitter out of your lovely suit. And your hair. And your shoes. How on earth did you manage it, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco vigorously shook his head, watching thousands of pesky little glitters drift to the floor. "I underestimated an opponent," he said grimly.

* * *

**Thursday**

Patricia staggered beneath the weight of the enormous, expensive-looking vase, in which were crammed dozens of expensive, blush-pink roses. "It's for you, Ms Granger!" she trilled, overjoyed at the possibility that her workaholic manager might have nabbed a wealthy suitor. "Oh, aren't they lovely?"

Hermione had to admit the roses were beautiful. And the vase looked like it would have preferred to sit on a pedestal at the Victoria and Albert Museum. After Patricia placed the vase (with a sigh of relief) on Hermione's desk, Hermione plucked out the small card that was attached to one of the buds.

 _Pax, Ms Granger,_ it read. _I sincerely apologise for the unfortunate manner and tone of my recent correspondence with you. I hope you will accept this poor offering from a wizard who now stands ashamed of his actions. I did not behave like a gentleman._

_Yours truly,_

_D Malfoy._

Smirking, Hermione leaned over the enormous bunch to sniff delicately at a perfect bloom. Suddenly, the thorns on the flower's stems grew into tough, sinewy tendrils and clutched Hermione's hair, holding on for grim life. Other thorns followed, wrapping themselves around her arms.

"HELP!" Hermione screamed, reaching in vain for her wand. "For the love of Merlin, someone help me!"

It was all too much for Patricia, who fainted dead away at the sight of her boss being eaten by a vase of roses. Hermione's rescuer, a senior policy advisor who'd been there and done it all, stepped over Patricia's prone body as he wielded his wand.

* * *

**Friday**

Hermione seethed all day. She was itching to face Draco and give him a piece of her mind – and her wand – but her team were in meetings all day. With Draco's team. It took a lot of effort for Hermione to not unleash Armageddon upon the arrogant wanker, but there were witnesses.

Very inconvenient, those witnesses.

* * *

**End of the day**

"Hold the lift!" shouted a breathless female voice.

Draco, the sole occupant of the lift, was tempted to ignore her – he just wanted to go home and drown himself in a vat of Firewhisky – but his breeding got the better of him, and he held the door open.

"Thanks," the woman said, her curly hair all askew. "I – oh, brilliant. It's you."

Yes, it was Hermione, and yes, it was Draco. All alone, in the lift, which was starting to descend.

Hermione pounced first. "You could have killed me with those flowers!" she shrieked, shoving Draco as hard as she could across the small confine. "Are you insane?"

"Oh, spare me the histrionics," Draco snapped. "You ruined a perfectly good Muggle Savile Row three-piece suit! And not to even mention my hair – even this morning, when I woke up, I could still see tiny bits of glitter on my pillow!"

"I'm sure your house-elf will cope with the extra cleaning duty!"

True, Draco's house-elf was hell-bent and determined to find and exterminate every piece of glitter he could lay his hands on, but that wasn't the point.

He slammed the stop button on the lift, just as it was passing the seventh floor.

"What are you doing?" Hermione snapped.

"We're having this out, right here, right now," Draco retorted, advancing on her. "The trouble with you is that you clearly don't have a sense of humour!"

"I do so have a sense of humour!" Hermione shrieked, her eyes sparking. "It just happens to be a lot more refined than your schoolboy-pranking sense of humour."

"I will not have you maligning my sense of humour, witch!" Draco roared, close enough to Hermione that he could smell the delicate perfume she wore on her skin. "And what the hell is that perfume you're wearing? It's intoxicating and it should be banned from the office."

"I'll wear whatever damn perfume I want and you can't stop me!" Hermione shouted, toe to toe with the ever-so-annoying git. "And it's 'Happy' by Clinique!"

They eyeballed each other, chests heaving, nostrils flaring.

Then their lips crashed together in a searing kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut

**(Continues from chapter 3)**

They didn't have sex in the lift. They didn't know each other well enough for that.

So, after a decent interval in which hair was mussed, ties were yanked and exploratory fingers determined the laciness of Hermione's knickers, Draco and Hermione managed to keep their clothes on and headed more or less sedately down to the Atrium and out the door before too many people wondered why they looked rather dishevelled. Maybe it was because the lift stopped between floors six and seven? pondered a worker out loud. Merlin knows, if she got stuck in a lift she'd had the Mother of All Hissy Fits. Which is quite dishevelling work.

Once out of the Ministry, around the corner and in a conveniently dark alleyway, Draco side-apparated Hermione to his posh digs in an area of Wizarding London similar to Muggle Belgravia. Hermione had a dizzying glimpse of a house elf and a polished hallway of hothouse plants and Greek statuary before she found herself on the other side of two enormous wooden doors, facing a sumptuous bed so large she could have swum laps in it if it contained water instead of luxurious bedlinen.

Draco pulled away from her, his lips having taken on the colour of her lipstick. It kind of suited him, go figure. "Can I get you anything to eat?" he asked.

Breathless, she shook her head.

"To drink?"

"Maybe later?"

"Good." With that, Draco clamped his lips over Hermione's again, and led her to the bed.

* * *

Once Hermione's blouse and bra were despatched to different corners of the enormous bedroom, Draco stopped, and – despite the awful manners – stared.

Scratch that. Ogled.

Draco was a man of the Wizarding world, and occasionally, the Muggle one, too. He'd seen (and handled) his fair share of busts, boobs, knockers, tits, melons, globes and bosoms. But he had never seen a pair of breasts as lovely as Hermione's before. He was entranced.

"Draco?" Hermione asked nervously, wondering why the action had come to a sudden halt.

They were a perfect size for his hands, he could tell. Each was a perfect teardrop shape, and perched high on her chest. Her pink nipples jutted out proudly, pointing slightly upwards and tantalising him, teasing him, coyly inviting him to touch and taste...

"Draco?"

Shirtless but still clothed in his trousers, he fell to his knees. With slightly shaking thumbs, he brushed each pert and sensitive nipple and revelled in their touch and puckered reaction. Without further ado, he leaned forward and drew one of those jewels into his mouth with his tongue.

"Omigod!"

Hermione's knees buckled and she would have fallen to the floor if she hadn't grabbed on to Draco's warm, bare shoulder for support. "Harder," she begged, and it was a symphony to Draco's ears.

He ravished each of Hermione's nipples, kneading her breasts, coaxing the most beautiful sounds from Hermione's throat. Her breathing quickened and she shifted her legs impatiently. Without pause or even looking away from his prize, Draco brushed an inquisitive finger along the seam of Hermione's panties – growling in satisfaction when he found the material was soaked through.

Swiftly pulling the gusset aside, he slid two long fingers into Hermione's drenched pussy, and –

The effect was electric.

Hermione's orgasmic wails bounced off the walls, and Draco was treated to a most enjoyable preview of the slick suppleness of her core. Salazar save him, he wasn't too far off coming himself.

Both breathless, they eased their bodies apart.

Draco looked at Hermione.

Hermione looked at Draco.

He divested their remaining clothing with a wandless spell, and carried Hermione to his bed.

* * *

Oh the agony.

The agony!

These were Draco's thoughts as he lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the canopy. His entire reason for existing had boiled down to the following: sheathing himself in the warm wetness of Hermione's body and fucking like rabbits until the sun came up. And probably beyond.

But here he was, prostrate on his bed, suffering in not-so-much silence as Hermione knelt between his legs and fellated his impressively large cock with her mouth and tongue, applying a suction so sweet it made his eyes roll in the back of his head.

It was too good. "No more!" he begged.

Hermione simply raised an eyebrow and plunged his cock deep into her throat.

Now it was Draco's turn for jumbled, meaningless words to tumble from his mouth as she quickly brought him to the edge of orgasm, wrapping her small hand around his erection and pumping it in time with the thrusts into her throat. She was going to make him come.

That's exactly what she wanted.

But with a super-wizard effort, he raised himself up, pulled Hermione off his protesting organ and laid her on the bed. Leaning over her, he said "That's not how I'm going to come in you tonight, my dear."

And as if their bodies had minds of their own, Hermione's legs parted, and Draco filled her core with one hard, slick, knee-trembling thrust.

* * *

**Sunday afternoon**

After having made the acquaintance of Draco's bed, Draco's enormously talented cock and Draco himself over the weekend, Hermione reckoned it was about time to head home and see how different it looked after being party to an exceptional shagging.

After doing up the buttons of her freshly laundered blouse (which Hermione felt guilty for making the house-elf go to extra trouble), she popped into the en suite (also enormous, of course) and magicked her hair into submission. "Uh, Draco?" she called out.

Draco was flicking through some correspondence on the escritoire situated in one cavernous corner of the bedroom. "Yes?"

"What's going to happen on Monday?" she asked.

Draco was confused. "What?"

Hermione didn't hear. "What?"

"Yes, what?"

"What? I said, 'what's going to happen on Monday?" she asked, exiting the en suite and looking lovely.

Draco was still confused. "Are you referring to work?" he hazarded.

"Yeah. I mean, are we going to let people know about us or are we keeping it quiet for now?"

Draco should have gone for circumspect, but he went for callous honesty instead.

"There's no 'us', love," he said baldly. "We both had a lovely time, and I'm more than happy for us to spend more time together if that's what you want too, but don't interpret this weekend as the start of a relationship. I'm not looking for one right now."

Hermione stood stock still in the bedroom, face expressionless, his words blackening her mind. Even though Draco had only known her a few days, he had a feeling that a tantrum of epic proportions was about to erupt. He looked around for a place to take cover.

Just as he was certain her stare was going to ignite one of his more cherished body parts, she picked up her handbag and shouldered it. With cool, even words, she spat "You're a loathsome piece of shit, Draco Malfoy."

With that, she turned and headed out the door, head held high.

Draco slid onto the escritoire's chair, feeling hollow. He'd fucked up in some way, hadn't he?


	5. Chapter 5

**Continues from chapter 4**

* * *

**Monday**

Monday was chilly. Positively arctic, in fact. At least, this was the case from Draco's perspective. During his and Hermione's combined team meeting, he shivered in his robes while the rest of the attendees chatted about the unseasonably warm weather they'd been having lately.

Hermione looked cool and collected in a svelte peach-coloured sleeveless dress that skimmed the curves that Draco knew she possessed. From time to time, her austere robes gave way to afford him a tantalising glimpse of bare arm or decolletage. It was most distracting.

As the meeting wore on, Draco came to realise that Hermione had erected an invisible wall of civility, figurately speaking – and wielded it like a weapon. She was polite and professional to the teams as usual, but when she turned her attention to Draco, her icy disdain radiated right through her pleasant demeanour. Hence the rather nippy chill that was swirling around Draco's shoulders, figuratively speaking.

He scratched a random note on his parchment and exhaled (not sighed - that would be unbecoming). Perhaps it was going to be a little harder than he thought to entice Hermione back to his bed.

* * *

**Tuesday**

Patricia approached Hermione's office as if she were a hostage being sent out to the Police with a bomb strapped around her body. Tapping on the door, and receiving Hermione's welcome, she turned the knob with a shaking hand, opened the door a sliver and poked her purple-rinsed head around.

"A delivery for you, Ms Granger," she stammered, then thrust a wrapped bouquet of flowers through said sliver before slamming the door shut and hightailing it to the bathrooms. No way was she going to get caught up in any evil flower magic shenanigans this time!

Cautious, Hermione drew her wand and wafted the lovely bouquet from the floor over to her conference table. Then, standing at a safe distance, she used every scanning spell she knew to check the innocent-looking item for curses, hexes, and any of the assortment of tricks the Weasley brothers excelled in.

To her surprise and relief, the bouquet was as innocent as a baby's bum. Purple hyacinths mixed with asphodel; both spelled a message of apology and regret. They also looked rather lovely – Hermione was a sucker for purple, after all.

To be on the safe side, she extracted the accompanying card by wand and sent it over to her outstretched hand. Yup, sure enough – the flowers were from Mr-I'm-not-looking-for-a-relationship-but-I'll-still-fuck-you-sideways-Malfoy.

 _Hermione,_ (the card read)

_I never had any intention of hurting your feelings, and I'm anguished at the possibility that this is what I have done. I have nothing but the highest esteem for your company, in any way it may form. Please accept these flowers as a token of my sincere regret for the hopefully temporary setback to our friendship. I would very much like to see you again._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

Written on expensive paper with silver edging and the eponymous Malfoy crest.

Hermione walked over to the bouquet and delicately eased the wrapping apart. Picking one of each blossom and putting them to one side, Hermione drew her wand, pointed it at the remaining bouquet and intoned _"Incendio!"_

* * *

Draco was scribbling furiously at his office desk when there was a knock at the door. He bade the knocker entry, and looked up when Bunny popped her head around, with a most extraordinary expression on her face.

"Erm, you have a delivery, Mr Malfoy..."

"All right then, bring it in."

Shrugging, Bunny stepped into his office, cradling the wrappings of a bouquet that was still giving off faint wisps of smoke. She laid it on his desk. "There's no card, sir."

"That's okay," Draco murmured, staring at Hermione's bonfired bouquet. None of the wrapping paper was singed. That's some pretty good spellcasting right there.

He ran his hands through his beautiful blonde hair. Time for plan B, he mused. Or was it C? Why was he trying so hard to get a witch who clearly had no time for him to look at him favourably again?

The sex, of course, he reminded himself. Gods, it was good.

* * *

**Wednesday**

Draco had cautiously ventured into the staff cafeteria with a Hooray Henry type from Magical Transportation whose mother knew his mother. He was standing in line with the buffoon, who hadn't stopped talking since he saw Draco approaching, inspecting the cafeteria's meagre offerings (which fell considerably below the standards of his usual midday comestibles), when a tempting aroma of a familiar, bewitching perfume crept over his shoulder and stuck its fingers up his nostrils.

He lurched upright, scanning the room, and there she was – the woman that was occupying his nightly dreams had just sat down at a nearby table, eating an apple almost indecently.

Some apple juice trickled down her bare arm, and she pursued that tantalising trail with her tongue.

A whimper escaped Draco's throat.

"Eh, what's that, old chap?" his colleague asked, alarmed by the odd noise Malfoy was making. His beady but accurate stare settled on Hermione, who was deciding which bare leg to cross over the other. "What is that odd fish Granger up to, eh? I'd suggest she's got ants in her pants but she's such an uptight old stick nothing would dare crawl up there of its own volition, eh what?"

Draco tamped down his urge to slay the mouthy twat with the Malfoy Look. He was certain this lunch date was going to end very suddenly, very shortly.

* * *

**Thursday**

Allright. Fine. Draco was going to be a man and approach this situation _mano-e-mano_. Or, more appropriately, _pythonissam et veneficus*._ He was going to talk to Hermione face to face. The prospect didn't unnerve him not one bit. At all. No, really.

He planned ahead and got Bunny to make an appointment for him. Turned out Hermione could only squeeze him in just before home-time. All to the good, Draco thought, rubbing his hands. He had the rest of the day to figure out some sparklingly-convincing argument that would have Hermione breaking the sound barrier in her haste to rush back to his apartment. Or her apartment. He didn't care.

* * *

A few minutes after the alloted time, he presented himself to Hermione's odd purple-haired secretary. Rich people didn't have to be on time. So he was rather surprised to hear "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but she's still in a meeting. I'll pop in and let her know you've arrived, have I?"

Smarting, Draco found a seat. _Touche_ , Ms Granger, he thought.

* * *

Ten sodding minutes later, a bloke who Draco vaguely recognised as one of Hermione's senior staffers left her office and shuffled past with apologies for keeping her occupied. Draco had a feeling it wasn't the chap's doing at all.

Finally, the lady of the hour appeared at her door and said "Mr Malfoy. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. Please come in."

And like a lovesick ghost, Draco followed her in.

He noticed they weren't sitting at Hermione's conference table. Instead, she sat behind her desk and he had to sit on the other side like a naughty schoolboy hauled up before the Headmaster. "How would you like me to address you?" he asked politely.

"However you like," she replied just as politely.

Good. He stood up and wandered over to her immense bookcase, pretending an interest. She watched him without comment.

"Hermione, did you enjoy the time we spent together last weekend?" he asked.

Her gaze skittered to the left before centring on him again. "I did," she said slowly. "As I assume you did."

"Yes. Very much so. You're a beautiful and scintillating witch with a genius mind and marvellous sense of humour. And while I don't deny that the physical component of the weekend wasn't out of this world, it was our conversation and learning about each other that I enjoyed more."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. But he actually seemed sincere.

He saw her waver, and pounced. "Would you consider the possibility of us becoming friends?"

Friends?

"You mean 'friends with benefits?'" she said tartly.

"Well, maybe, at some point..." he prevaricated.

Hermione stood up and walked towards him. He straightened up and watched her, half wary, half hopeful.

Getting up close to Draco, she said "I am prepared to consider a platonic relationship with you," she started. "Once I hack past all the arrogance and aristocracy, you're a pretty interesting bloke."

He puffed out his chest.

"But as for sex..." Hermione fished a card out from her bra – Draco boggled – and pressed it into his hand. "I'm sure this can help you out of a tight spot. Ta-ra, then."

With that, she grabbed her handbag and exited stage left.

Draco gaped after her, then peered at the card.

_Madame Lashlight's Emporium of Pleasure_

_All your dreams fulfilled for a reasonable price_

_Discretion assured_

_13 Knockturn Alley_

_Freeloaders not welcome_

Draco's mouth twitched. A little vixen needs taking down a peg or two, he thought.

* * *

**Friday**

It was a busy day, and neither Hermione nor Draco saw hide not hair of each other all day, until they found each other standing at the lifts at home time.

They exchanged pleasant nods, even engaged in a little nonsense chat while wating for the lift doors to open. Ever the gentleman, he waited until the witches had boarded before stepping on himself, standing next to Hermione, as it would seem.

"Do you have a nice weekend planned?" Draco asked.

"I'm going to spend it with the Weasley family," Hermione smiled. "Their house is so filled with little children these days, it's an absolute joy."

Draco mentally gagged. Children and joy were incompatible terms, as far as he was concerned. "Lovely!" he managed.

"And what about you?" Hermione asked, playing the polite game.

"Well, tonight I have a date with an old acquaintance – Astoria Greengrass, you might remember her from Hogwarts? So, dinner tonight, and maybe breakfast tomorrow, if I play my cards right?" he winked.

Hermione's mouth opened. "Oh. Well. Uh. Good," she finished lamely.

At the entrance to the Ministry, they parted ways. "Enjoy your time with the Weasleys!" Draco called, waving goodbye.

"Uh. Yeah. You too. With, um..." she stuttered, but it didn't matter. Draco was gone.

Hermione stared at her shoes. What just happened?

* * *

*** witch-to-wizard. According to Google Translate.**


	6. Chapter 6

**The following week**

**Monday**

For a change, Draco and Hermione met in the lifts going up on Monday morning.

Draco asked pleasantly: "How was your weekend?"

"Oh... good," Hermione replied vaguely. "Yeah, lovely time."

And it was. Mostly. She was a little surprised to find herself flagging towards the end of the weekend, though. Once the kids learned to walk, and (shudder) fly brooms, a lot of energy was spent making sure they hadn't wandered or flown into catastrophe. Also, she could have done without the likes of Fred, George and Ron teasing her about her Spartan romantic life, offering to set her up with all sorts of yobs under the guise of doing her 'a favour.'

_"I can pull blokes!" Hermione furiously whispered to a sceptical Ginny while they were both in the nursery. "You wouldn't believe who I slept with just last weekend!"_

_"All right, then, who?" Ginny asked, settling her latest baby to her breast._

_Hermione opened her mouth – and closed it again. No one would believe that she shagged the reigning Wizard Bachelor of the Year all last weekend with pauses only for tea and crumpets._

_"It doesn't do you any good to shut yourself away," Ginny said gently. "A career is all well and good, but it's also nice to come home to a place with someone besides a pet for company."_

_A pet who got more action than she did, Hermione thought morosely, recalling the yodelling outside her flat last night, courtesy of Crookshanks and his latest floozy._

Hermione roused herself from her reverie by pretending to be interested in Draco's weekend sex-fest. "Well, enough about me! What did you get up to?"

Unfortunately, they had reached their destination and needed to part before heading to their respective departments. Draco grinned and tapped his nose, to Hermione's shared relief and ire. "A gentleman wizard doesn't shag and tell," he quipped. "See you nine for the shared department meeting?"

"Yeah," Hermione mumbled. "See you at nine."

* * *

If anyone noticed that Hermione was a bit quiet at the interdepartmental meeting, no one said anything. Normally quite the bossyboots, this time Hermione vaguely sucked the end of her quill (terrible habit, started at school) and mentally scanned all the floors of the Ministry of Magic to determine whether there were any single, shaggable blokes that she could suffer at least one date with.

Crikey, there weren't many. Aside from the specimen sitting opposite her and looking at her rather oddly.

Hermione shook herself, scowled at Draco and gave her attention to the remainder of the meeting.

* * *

Alone in his office, Draco yawned, stretched and put his feet up on his office desk (something Bunny did not approve of). He wondered what Hermione would have thought if he told her the truth about his date on Friday:

_He took Astoria to the finest restaurant in Wizarding London, known for its exquisite food and ever-present paparazzi hanging around the front door. Just the sort of glam and glitzy joint a Malfoy should be seen at, especially when accompanying a beautiful young witch such as Astoria Greengrass._

_He thought the dinner date went quite well. There was wine, there were women (or just the one, in this case), and there was he, entertaining Astoria with his latest exploits. Until the time when she politely refused the waiter's offer to refill her wine glass, smiled at Draco and said "That's the seventeenth time you've mentioned Hermione Granger's name tonight."_

_Off-guard, Draco tried to think back on his conversational efforts of the evening. Sure, he might have mentioned Hermione once or twice; they are colleagues, after all. But seventeen? Surely not._

_Astoria's smile grew larger. "Would you like to check my memories in the pensieve you have at your flat?"_

_Draco deflated a tad. "I didn't mention that we'd slept together, had I?" he whispered._

_Astoria laughed. "You certainly didn't! And I'd rather you not mention it at all, thank you." Then she sobered and held Draco's hand. "I'm thrilled to bits that you've found a witch to take seriously for a change, especially after what my sister did" –_

_The stem of the wine glass in Draco's free hand snapped, sending blood-red claret washing over the table._

_Astoria, nimbly leaping free of the spill, moved her chair closer to a stone-faced Draco's. "It doesn't do you any good to shut yourself away," she murmured._

_Draco sighed, watching the waiter make quick work of the wine spill with his wand. "Maybe," was his grudging reply. But to Astoria, who'd been trying to get him to date a nice young witch for yonks, that one word was a massive achievement._

_"Well, if you won't hear about my love life, how about yours?" Draco asked, sipping from his new wine glass._

_Astoria grinned. "I'm experimenting with lesbianism at the moment," she replied. "Mother's horrified, naturally."_

_Draco pretend-leered at her. "Want some tips?" he winked._

_Astoria laughed. "I think I'll find may way around!"_

So, all in all, Draco had a rather quiet weekend. Interspersed with occasional fantasies about Astoria sleeping with another woman. Which turned out to be Hermione.

* * *

**Thursday**

Hermione had a sore jaw. She'd been clenching it all damn week, and she didn't see any reason to stop clenching it now. Why were there so few eligible bachelors within the Ministry of Magic? And why did they run a mile when she approached them about a date?

Take Julian Postlethwaite from the Department of Mysteries, for example. He seemed nice - very quiet, liked books, lived with his Mum. She found him in the Library, poring over a mysterious tome on Muggle hypnotisation practices for some reason. They had a perfectly nice conversation about the topic, Hermione contributing what she could (her opinion: it was a load of bollocks), but when she mentioned continuing the conversation over a drink at the local, Julian turned white, pushed his spectacles up his nose, stammered out a rather lame excuse about replying to an urgent memo from Wizard-Muggle Co-operation (her _own_ department) and scarpered out of the Library before Hermione could blink.

And as for Argo Jorgensen – Hermione shuddered. An up-and-comer in the Department of Magical Education, he had his own office. Which led to Hermione learning a new mantra: never get caught in a room alone with Argo-of-the-octopus-hands-and-tongue-Jorgensen. Ever. She had to pull a bat-bogey hex to get away from him, which she found, to her disappointment, that its execution was not as good as Ginny's. Still, it did the trick.

They say 'three times a charm,' and Hermione struck something approaching gold in the form of Senior Advisor to the Minister of the Department of Magical Games and Sports – one Cormac McLaggen.

Hermione ground her teeth. I can't believe it's come down to a McLaggen, she grizzled. I can't believe that the only single wizards I know all work at the Ministry! Is there some kind of dating club I could join?

* * *

**Friday**

Draco caught Hermione in the lift going down for home time. She seemed to be conducting jaw flexion exercises.

"You good?"

Hermione looked up and blushed when she saw Draco's concern. "Yes, nothing's wrong. Why, should there be?" she babbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"In fact," Hermione continued at a trot, "I have a date tonight! A hot one!"

She managed not to end the statement with "So there." That would have been terribly childish.

"A hot date?" Draco said faintly. "And who is the lucky bloke? Do I know him?"

"You probably do," she preened. "Cormac McLaggen. He was in Gryffindor at school; played Keeper at Quidditch. Ring a bell?"

Oh, yes. Bells of the alarming sort were clanging in Draco's head.

"Well," he said, pasting on a smile, "dare I ask what the plans are for tonight?"

"We're going to dinner at _Chez Louis_ (a terribly pretentious spot, one Draco knew well) and after that, we'll see where the evening takes us!" Hermione tried to leer at Draco, but she just ended up frightening the other lift occupants.

"Uh... great!" Draco replied. "Hope you have a lovely time. I'm just having a quiet one this weekend – some Quidditch with the lads, maybe."

"That sounds nice!" Hermione replied, barely keeping the hysteria from bursting past her teeth.

In the atrium, Draco ghosted Hermione's cheek with the promise of a kiss. "See you Monday, then."

Hermione had a mad and fleeting thought – what if she told Draco she was going to cancel her date; and did he fancy going to dinner with her instead?

But he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Friday evening**

**Hermione's flat**

Hermione glanced in the large mirror hanging from her armoire, checking for loose threads, straight stocking seams and that false eyelashes were staying put.

Little Black Dress: check.

Silky, sheer black stockings: check.

Sinfully-high heels: check. Wait, better downgrade those to mid-heel shoes with an ankle strap. In case she needs to run away.

Cleavage: sigh. Check. Accentuated with a small diamond pendant that nestled snugly in between her breasts. Should I take the pendant off? Hermione wondered. Nah. Might as well give McLaggen a reason to leer at her tits.

Hair: sleek French roll with a few wispy curls escaping here and there. Check.

Face: eyelashes as already denoted (bloody irritating things), dramatic smoky eye warpaint and the type of red lipstick all women of confidence wear when strutting around doing confident things. Check.

Hermione looked at the time and retrieved her handbag from underneath Crookshank's impressive floofy form. Cormac offered to pick her up from her flat, but that request was soundly denied. No way was she letting a McLaggen know where she lived. Him knowing where she worked was bad enough.

For the millionth time, Draco's face appeared before her, looking devilishly sly and sexy.

"Fuck off!" Hermione snapped, giving Crookshanks a fright. Grinding her jaw, she set off for the restaurant.

* * *

**Chez Louis**

Hermione detested being late for anything. Made her break out in hives, usually. But she knew it was the done thing to be 'fashionably late' at these sorts of executions, er, events, so fashionably late she was.

And as beautiful as she was, her entrance to the restaurant caused a number of heads to turn. The men turned their heads and stared just a little too long at the ravishing-but-slightly-grumpy-looking creature being helped with her cloak by an effusive waiter. The women turned their heads to see what their men were staring at. Many eyes were on Hermione.

Except Cormac's, sitting as he was at a centre-stage table, flirting with the drinks waitress.

Nursing a rather cheeky brandy in a dark corner of the restaurant's bar, Draco watched Hermione, who watched the maître d', who watched the waitress giggle at something Cormac said with narrowed eyes –

Hang on. Why is Draco here?

Why indeed? If you asked Draco, he couldn't tell you.

He just had a vague, niggly ulcerative feeling that grumbled when the spectre of Cormac McLaggen leering over Hermione's form like a D-grade movie vampire with halitosis and poorly-fitting fangs loomed in his mind.

He was not fond of this feeling.

And even though his head knew Hermione was perfectly capable of seeing off unwanted suitors with a flea in their ear, he found his feet trudging towards the restaurant, dateless (quelle horreur!), slinking to the bar and establishing himself in the darkest corner he could find. Then he added a disillusionment charm. You know, just in case.

Hermione was led to Cormac's table by the maître d', his eyes shooting lasers at the waitress, who suddenly snapped to professional attention. Cormac jumped to his feet slightly too late, leaving the maître d' to seat her at the cosy table. Therefore, Cormac's awkward attempt to kiss her on the cheek landed somewhere above her French roll.

"My word, you look smashing!" Cormac enthused, running a practised eye over Hermione's body. As predicted, his eyes clamped on her 'pendant.' "Have you tried this wine? It's really plump and perky!"

Hermione sank into her plush chair. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

And so the evening wore on. The food was sublime and the wine was ambrosia. Hermione appreciated this, since the conversation was almost entirely dominated by Cormac. She had given up trying to answer his rapid-fire questions by the end of the soup course, and proceeded to enjoy the rest of her scrumptious meal against a droning backdrop of Cormac's monologing with his mouth full.

At long, blessed last, the restaurant ran out of courses to serve the table. Hermione glanced up from touching up her power-woman lipstick and found Cormac leaning forward on his chair, wine-bleary eyes still somehow sparkling with anticipation. Or heartburn.

The maître d' discreetly slid the bill in front of Cormac's nose.

"Well, wasn't this a swell evening, darling? Shall we continue it at my place?" Cormac leered, glancing at the bill – and then, for the first time this evening, shutting up.

Hermione already had her rejection speech prepared. "Cormac, thank you for a lovely evening," she lied, but as usual, she got no further.

"Ah, look," Cormac said shakily to the maître d' while patting his pockets, "I seem to have left my Galleons in my cloak."

"Indeed, sir," the maître d' intoned.

"I'll just nip over and grab them," Cormac said, rearing up from the table. "But first I'll pay a quick visit to the Gentlewizards'. Won't be long!"

* * *

Ten minutes later, Draco eased off his bar stool and headed to the toilets. As he expected, the stalls were McLaggen-free. A faint whiff of magic in the air indicated someone had apparated their worthless arse out of the building.

He returned to the restaurant and slid gracefully into Cormac's empty seat. Hermione looked up, her 'I'm over it' expression morphing into surprise. "Um, hi…?"

Draco glanced at the bill. "He's legged it."

Hermione's lips pressed together. "I should have bloody known," she replied, watching the maître d' waft over. Then realisation hit. "That bloody wanker's left me with the bill!"

Pulling it towards her, she read the bottom line – then turned so white that Draco half-rose from his seat, certain that she was going to faint.

Satisfied that Hermione wasn't going to dying swan-it off her chair, Draco pulled the bill towards him. "Put this on my account," he instructed the maître d'.

"Very good, sir."

"Wait just a damn minute!" Hermione hissed, outrageously offended. "This is my problem, Malfoy, and I'm more than capable of fixing it!"

"Are you sure?" Draco asked doubtfully. "You're on the same pay grade as I am." Thus igniting a fiery rage in Hermione's eyes.

"Yes, you great big gallumping prick, I can afford to pay the bill!"

The maître d' moved a tactful step or two away. This was not the first domestic argument he'd seen in his career. Or today, come to think of it.

"Duly noted. But should you?"

Hermione paused, handbag in hand. "What do you mean?"

Draco leaned forward, leaning gracefully on an arm. Hermione caught the scent of his cologne, and her pussy immediately began to tingle. She clamped her legs together.

"Wizarding tradition dictates that the wizard covers the expenses while the couple are dating. While the witch can offer to pay half or all of the expenses or even arrange the date, the default position is that the wizard stumps up the cash. Even though McLaggen shamefully abandoned you to face the music, this doesn't change the fact that the wizard should pay. I am a wizard; hence, I should pay this bill."

Hermione gaped. There was probably a deficit of logic in this statement, but she'd had a bit too much wine to work it out. Still –

"But if you pay the bill, McLaggen gets a free meal," she pointed out. "That doesn't seem fair."

Draco smiled, and Hermione clamped her legs together even harder. "Believe me, McLaggen will pay for what he's done."

Hermione leaned towards him. "Whatever you've got planned, can I go halvsies?"

"Only if you let me pay this bill."

Hermione held out her hand for him to shake. "Deal."

Draco's hand touched hers, and there it was again – that damn, traitorous tingle.

The maître d' silently sighed with contentment as he helped the lady with her cloak. She might have started the evening with a certifiable prick, but she landed Prince Charming in the end. Even better, his bill got paid. He was rather worried there for a minute.

* * *

**Outside Chez Louis**

The moment was awkward, it couldn't be denied. Hermione stood on the pavement, clutching her handbag and wondering what to do next.

On the one hand, she could go home and de-flea Crooks.

On the other hand, there was Draco. Who didn't look like he was in a hurry to go anywhere.

On the other other hand, she was still mad at Draco for not wanting to formalise their relationship.

On the other other other hand, her panties were soaking wet.

Draco broke the uncomfortable ice. "You look stunning," he said in a low voice. "I hope that wanker managed to tell you that in amongst all the bullshit he spouted."

Hermione looked up. "Were you there the whole time?"

Draco grimaced. "Unfortunately. Most of my arse is still numb from the bar stool."

"Were you spying on me?" There was that dangerous glow in Hermione's eyes.

"On the contrary," Draco replied, stepping closer. "I was looking forward to witnessing first-hand the ire you were capable of unleashing upon Cormac's vacant head, having experienced it myself."

"It was a bit of a fizzer in the end, though."

"Ah. Merely deferred to a time McLaggen will least suspect."

Hermione's siren-red lips curved. "Indeed."

Draco slowly reached out and touched one of Hermione's wayward curls. "May I interest you in a nightcap at my place while we plot McLaggen's well-deserved demise?"

Hermione blinked. "Are we killing him?"

"No. But I'm not ruling out some form of long-term journey to a hellish insanity."

Hermione could read the mood. Despite the chilly outside air, their immediate surroundings crackled with heated sparks of lust. And let's face it, Draco and his crackling lust appealed more than tackling Crooks to give him his flea treatment potion. (She'd been putting it off – Crooks was a very dramatic patient).

She conducted a quick stocktake of her underclothing. Since she had exactly zero interest in letting Cormac see her unmentionables, she'd paid scant attention to her lingerie when getting ready. She recalled putting on plain black cotton Marks n' Sparks mix n' match bra and hipsters this morning.

Eh. Good enough.

She threaded her arm through Draco's. "That sounds lovely," she replied.

Draco smiled, and damnit, she really wanted to rid herself of her panties.

Ain't nothing more annoying than wet panties.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Now the story heads into 'after', which means the story picks up from the end of chapter 2.**

**Some references to sex**

* * *

**'After'**

Hermione never stayed the night at Draco's flat, nor did he stay overnight at hers. In fact, Draco's sojourns to Hermione's flat were rare, thanks to a very territorial Crookshanks, who did unspeakable things to Draco's hand-made Oxford brogues one evening while Hermione and Draco were otherwise engaged.

She did a fair job of convincing herself that it was what it was – a casual fling, friends with benefits, just something between the two of them. Except sometimes, afterwards, splayed across Draco's still-heaving chest, Hermione would pull an errant lock of hair out of her eyes and accidentally catch him watching her. And the look in his eyes didn't match that of a seasoned playboy who was only in it for the orgasms.

That look unsettled her.

Are they both... pretending not to care?

In any case, Hermione had been labouring under the impression that their affair was known to a committee of two, i.e. her and Draco. So she was rather surprised to discover, in the middle of the busy atrium of the Ministry of Magic, that a third party had been tagging along, all along.

* * *

**Ministry of Magic Atrium**

Hermione hurried into the Ministry's glorious atrium, glad to be out of the inclement weather. Fresh from a visit to Number 10 Downing St, she was bristling with ideas and bustling with notes which refused to stay in her arms.

She'd just clamped her foot on a runaway piece of parchment when she heard her name being called.

"Ms Granger? Hermione Granger? Is that you?"

Hermione looked around for the speaker of her name, confused when she discovered that the utterer was a very pretty young woman of vague remembrance – a young lady who seemed quite happy to see her.

"Ms Granger! Oh, this is excellent! I've been wanting to speak to you for ages!"

Ms Granger smiled politely and said "If you wish to have a meeting with me, please contact my PA, Patricia. I'm afraid my hands are rather full at the moment."

"Oh!" the lady laughed. "I'm sorry, I should have realised you might not remember me. I'm Astoria Greengrass. I was in the year below you at Hogwarts – in Slytherin House?"

Hermione tried to remember. There was a Greengrass in the same year as her; she hung out with that spiky bully Pansy Parkinson, who both followed Draco everywhere, staring at him like the sun shone out of his arse. This girl must be the younger sister to the one in her year – what was her name? Daffodil?

Anyway, Hermione slightly adjusted her polite smile and said "How lovely to see you again. But I really have to" –

"You see, I was hoping I could speak with you in private about Draco," said Astoria eagerly, while standing in the middle of a busy atrium with wizards and witches too-ing and fro-ing.

"Ms Greengrass," Hermione said patiently. "Whatever you have to say about Mr Malfoy to me needn't be said in private. The fact that our teams work together is hardly a national secret."

"Oh dear," Astoria sighed, "I haven't made myself clear. I meant about your private affair with Draco."

* * *

A furious Hermione whisked Astoria to a relatively secluded niche around a corner no one used terribly much. She snapped "Ms Greengrass, I am appalled" –

Astoria quaked.

..."that I even thought that Draco bloody Malfoy would be capable of keeping a secret a bloody secret! The cheek of that bastard! He was the one who insisted on secrecy, and now I find out he's been spilling all to a Slytherin alumnae! And a beautiful one, at that. Does the man not have any non-beautiful friends?"

Astoria watched Hermione transform into Valkyrie mode, impressed. She could see why Draco was so fascinated with her.

"I think," Astoria ventured timidly, "that my role as confidant is specifically related to the reason why Draco is so wary of committing to a relationship with you."

Hermione's Valkyrie hair and eyes subsided somewhat. "What do you mean?"

"He was engaged to my sister Daphne," Astoria said unhappily. "But then she did something monumentally stupid, and Draco's never trusted his heart with a woman since. But I think he might trust his heart to you – if you understood what he went through."

Well, thought Hermione, dumbfounded. This is not what I expected when returning from Number 10.

* * *

After a moment's thought, Hermione escorted Astoria down the back stairs to level 10 of the Ministry, where she found an unused antechamber where spokeswitches or wizards prepared themselves before facing the Wizengamot on behalf of the accused. Fortunately, this was a day that neither law enforcement nor law creating was in session, so the whole floor was theirs, anyway.

Hermione dumped her unruly parchments on a nearby desk and sat down on a creaky chair, inviting Astoria to do the same.

"Firstly," Hermione started, "I should let it be known that just because I am taking time to hear your story doesn't serve as confirmation that I'm in love with Draco or anything like that."

Astoria nodded briskly, keeping her opinion to herself. "Of course."

"And secondly," Hermione added, "does Draco want me to hear what you have to say?"

Astoria cocked her head and thought for a bit. "Hard to say. On the outside – no; on the inside – yes. I think."

Hermione frowned. That was not a helpful answer.

And now her curiosity was gnawing insistently at her insides. "Very well," she intoned, rather too imperiously. "Proceed."

Astoria hid her smile. Because finally, her almost brother-in-law might be able to find love and stop destroying himself inside. And also, Hermione was acting a little silly.

* * *

"Well," she began, "there was an 'understanding' between our families that Draco and Daffy were promised to each other since they were both babies. After they finished school, they got formally engaged, and it really seemed like they were both in love. Wedding preparations were underway when Draco received word of a last-minute opportunity that had come up in America – something to do with their Ministry over there, I'm not sure exactly – and he decided to take it. It was a one-year apprenticeship programme which would prepare Draco well for public service, and ultimately onto bigger things.

"Draco offered to marry Daffy immediately in a much smaller ceremony so she could go with him, but she had her heart set on a huge society wedding, enormous dress, all the trimmings, etc. So they postponed the wedding until Draco returned.

"Months went by, and things weren't... right. Once I accidentally caught her sniggering with Pansy over the love letters Draco sent. We had a row, and Daffy started spending more and more time at Malfoy Manor. Helping Narcissa with wedding preparations, she said. I was kind of relieved that our house was free of her constant demands and histrionics, so I didn't pry.

"In hindsight, I really wish I had."

Astoria looked so sad, and Hermione reached out and touched her sleeve. "They're adults," she said softly (albeit young ones). "They are the ones responsible for their actions, not you."

Astoria smiled a wobbly smile. "Yes, you're right," she said. "But still, it's hard."

She drew a breath, and returned to the story.

"Draco managed to finish his studies in America a couple of days early, and headed back home, intent on surprising his loved ones. He enjoyed the studies, he told me, but found socialising hard – witches would flock to him, naturally, but he wasn't interested in a single one and constantly had to reject them – some, rather forcefully. His male colleagues were jealous of his success with witches, despite himself, and snubbed him. So, yes, he was looking forward to coming home and finally marrying his bride.

"Draco went to our house first, he was so anxious to see Daffy again. But by then, she'd more or less moved into Malfoy Manor because the wedding was drawing near and there was so much to do.

"When he reached Malfoy Manor, the house elves were overjoyed to see him. Unfortunately, Narcissa was in Paris, shopping, and wouldn't be home for a few days yet, around the time she was expecting Draco to come home.

"Draco's relationship with his father was never warm, so he didn't bother presenting himself to Lucius. When he asked the elves where he could find Daffy, they all clamped up and refused to say. It wasn't until Draco threatened them with an article of clothing that one stammered she was in the garden, at the gazebo.

"With misgivings, Draco headed to the gazebo, a structure that was going to form the centrepiece of their wedding celebrations.

"He heard them first, but in his innocence, didn't know that the sounds he heard were of pleasure, not pain. He hurried towards the gazebo and when he reached it, he discovered, to his horror and revulsion" – Astoria stopped and swallowed visibly.

"Lucius and Daphne having sex?" Hermione whispered.

Astoria nodded unhappily. "With great gusto, apparently. Draco was still a virgin – although he more than made up for it later, he told me – and it took him a few moments to figure out what was going on. Daffy was pressed up against the gazebo rail, and Lucius was entering her from behind. They were still mostly clothed, and for one confusing moment, Draco thought Daphne was in some sort of distress and that Lucius, cold bastard of a father that he is, was embracing her from behind as a form of comfort. Not so."

Hermione sat back in her creaky chair, aghast. She'd had her fair share of shitty relationships, sure, but nothing topped walking in one one's father fucking your fiancée. Wow.

"So, Lucius finally noticed his son and crudely pushed Daphne away from him. He called her all sorts of vile names, saying she led him on. You know the sort of thing. Daphne, in reply, turned on the waterworks and pleaded with Draco not to listen to his father, that he forced her; but even an inexperienced young man like Draco belatedly realised both were thoroughly enjoying themselves as he approached. He wondered how many times they'd fucked each other behind his mother's back, and a cold rage suffused him.

""Daphne," he snapped, even as his heart broke, "consider our engagement broken. Return the engagement ring to my mother before you leave Malfoy Manor for good – and tell her the exact reason why the wedding is off."

"Daphne sobbed and begged and pleaded, even as Lucius's seed trickled down her leg. Draco ignored her and turned to his father, who was already blustering and making himself out to be an innocent bystander that just happened to trip and fall into Daphne's cunt with his cock. "Father," Draco said in chill tones, "I always knew you weren't good enough for my mother. But this sort of behaviour is beneath even you."

"And with that, he turned and headed back to the Manor, instructed his elves to re-pack his effects and headed back to America. There, he studied and worked and slept with many, many witches until he decided to come home."

With that, Astoria sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples.

Hermione's brain clattered like a steroidal typewriter. Has Draco returned to Malfoy Manor since he got back from America? Does he still have feelings for Daphne? Besides cold rage, obviously. Are the elder Malfoys separated or still married? She never paid attention to the gossip papers. Did Daphne get pregnant by Lucius? Bloody hell.

She decided to ask Astoria a less scandalous question. "How is Daphne today?" she asked.

Astoria raised an arch eyebrow. "I don't know," she replied. "Daphne is 'in the country,' you see. My parents won't have her name uttered in the house – the scandal was unbearable for them."

"If I might ask, what are their plans for your marriage?" Hermione asked softly.

Astoria's smile hardened. "To marry 'someone they think is suitable,' of course," she gritted. "But that simply won't do. When – if – I marry, it will be to someone I want to be with. They will have no choice in the matter."

Hermione was starting to like this young lady, a protesting prisoner of her birthright.

"I have one last question," Hermione ventured. "Why did Draco come back to England?"

Astoria's gaze was thoughtful. "He's never said," she admitted.


	9. Chapter 9

**Lemons**

* * *

Hermione refused to admit it, but her friends and family would have heartily agreed: she was terribly curious. They wouldn't go so far as to say 'insatiably curious;' she understood what the concept of privacy meant, but she certainly had a reliable habit of insinuating herself into interesting conversations under the guise of 'offering help.'

So when Astoria admitted that she didn't know why Draco had returned to England, considering his ghastly family scandal didn't leave him with much to look forward to, you could say that Hermione was very, very curious.

Very curious.

* * *

Asking Draco such a personal question at work was pointless; he'd just smile and fob her off with a banal excuse such as "the climate is so much better here, don't you think?" or "there's no row like Saville Row. America is a lovely place, but a Saville Row three-piece suit sticks out like a dog's bollocks when strolling through Times Square, and one must look one's best, don't you think?"

So, she had to approach the topic after-hours, and after sex. Conversation took a dim second place when compared to the other fruits of delight on offer, but it did happen. Most of their conversations devolved into robust debates, sure, but very few names were called.

Our Hermione was not one to back down from a challenge, of course, so in she sailed, boots and all.

* * *

**One evening**

**Draco's flat**

"America must have been a fascinating place," Hermione murmured faux-sleepily, as she partially draped herself Draco's slightly-sweaty chest. "I don't know how you could ever bear to swap the glitz and glamour of America with the never-ending rain and smog of London."

Draco chuckled, and gently heaved himself partially upright so he could find his wand and pour a couple of glasses of wine.

Handing Hermione a glass of something ruby red and sinfully tasty, he said lightly: "It's a different place, that's for sure."

She took a sip, and her tastebuds danced a merry jig on her tongue. Taste-orgasm over, she looked at Draco over the rim of the wineglass and accidentally-on purpose spilled a few drops onto her bare breasts.

"Oops!" she declared, not making the slightest attempt to clean herself up. "I'm such a butterfingers, sometimes."

No matter. Draco had already set his wineglass on the bedside table and was attending to Hermione's little spillage with his tongue – slowly, and ever so effectively.

Hermione smiled to herself. 

"Why did you come back, if I may ask?"

Draco was paying careful attention to the cleanliness of a nipple. "The Ministry had a vacancy," he murmured.

Nuts. That was true. And certainly a good reason to move back home. 

Hermione was finding it rather hard to concentrate. In fact, the dratted wizard was now dipping his finger into her glass and tracing patterns over her breasts – patterns that he followed with his tongue.

Throwing tact to the wind, she breathlessly asked "Is that the only reason?"

Draco sat up, scrutinising Hermione's face with too much speculation. "Are you trying to get information out of me?"

Hermione languidly drew her foot over his buttocks. "Are you trying to determine if I'm trying to get information out of you?"

This time, Draco laughed. "Obviously, yes."

Hermione put her own glass down and moved over Draco's body until he lay on the bed and she straddled his hips. "If I say yes, will you tell me what I want to know?"

Draco put his hands behind his head. "Nope."

Hermione pouted. "Why the hell not?"

"Because I'm enjoying this too much. It isn't often that I have something to dangle over the curly head of one deliciously luscious Hermione Granger."

Hermione rewarded him with an eye roll, then failed to stop her hand from wandering between her legs and discovering – oh! What is this? A burgeoning erection, limbering up for round two?

"Will you tell me if I give you a hand job?"

Draco snorted. "You've got to be joking."

Hermione moved down his body and tasted the length of his cock with her tongue. "Will you tell me if I deep-throat you?" she asked.

Draco inhaled, before letting it go on a sigh. "What do you want to know?" he asked quietly.

First things first. Draco's erection was hard enough now for Hermione to guide into her mouth. Running her tongue around the head, she bobbed her head once or twice, filling her mouth with his flesh. Then she popped it free.

On Draco's strangled oath, she asked "Have you seen your Mum since you came back?"

She added her hand to the mix, cupping it around his length and stroking it.

"Yes," he bit out.

"At Malfoy Manor or elsewhere?"

"Here, as it happens."

Hermione made every inch of Draco's cock wet by feeding more of him further and further into her mouth. His head touched the back of her mouth just beyond her upper palate. Nearly there.

Once more, she pulled him free. "Fuck!" Draco swore, clutching his hair.

"Have you returned to Malfoy Manor since you came home?" she whispered.

Opening her mouth again, she fed his thickness in and pressed it as far back as she could. She felt his thighs ripple in spasm as his cock scraped the tightness of her throat, and she applied all her concentration to playing his cock just as liked it – until he muttered her name on an oath and spilled onto her willing tongue.

Gently, she sucked and cleaned his cock until the post-orgasmic tremors went away. Then she sat up, wiping her lips with her thumb, meeting his dazed eyes with her own.

"No," he muttered. "But the reason I came home was for the situation at Malfoy Manor. The vacancy at the Ministry was just a coincidence."

Hermione partly lay across his body and pressed his damp hair back with her fingertips. "Why is that?" she whispered by his mouth.

"Because I have to see Lucius one more time before the bastard dies."

* * *

Hermione curled into his side, silent.

"Astoria told you what happened, didn't she?"

"Um, yeah," Hermione confessed. "She's worried about you."

Draco's arm swept over her to envelop her in a hug. "Are you worried about me?"

Hermione swallowed. What to say?

"In truth, yes. You had a very shitty experience." And it's shaped your life, she added to herself. Cutting you off from so many more enjoyable experiences.

Draco was silent for so long, she thought he'd fallen asleep. She herself very nearly was; and should really think about getting up and heading home.

Then he whispered, so very low against her ear:

"Will you come to Malfoy Manor with me?"


End file.
